


Separation of Powers

by owlmoose



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Possession, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-12
Updated: 2012-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-24 13:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlmoose/pseuds/owlmoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before everything came crashing down in Kirkwall, Elissa Cousland offered Anders sanctuary with the Wardens. Now Hawke wants to take her up on that offer. But collecting might not be that simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Old Friends](https://archiveofourown.org/works/249606) by [owlmoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlmoose/pseuds/owlmoose). 



"He WHAT?!!"

The outburst that rocked the palace came from the direction of their personal chambers, as best as Alistair could tell, his wife's shout probably audible in the deepest caverns of Orzammar. Word of a messenger had already sent him towards his study, but he started taking the stairs two at a time, following the stream of ever-more creative invective, probably being hurled in the direction of some hapless courier. He pushed the entry door aside and strode down the hallway to the study. Elissa was indeed there, pacing in front of his desk, a sheet of parchment clenched in her hand. Her voice had dropped to a mutter of curses droning under her breath, and one of the palace couriers, a human boy barely into his teens, stood at wary attention in a corner.

Alistair took up a sentinel position in the doorway. "Elissa? What's wrong?"

She stopped in mid-pace, then pivoted on her heel and turned her glare on him; it was all Alistair could do not to flinch from the fury in her eyes. "What's wrong? _What's wrong?_ Did you know about this?" She shook the parchment, the paper rattling in the air.

"Since I don't know what 'this' is, I can't really say, now can I?" He took a careful step forward. "Is it connected to those rumors of unrest in Kirkwall?"

"One could say that." Elissa's answering laugh was a bitter, brittle sound. "Anders. That damned son of a blighted broodmother. Do you know what he did? He _blew up the bloody Kirkwall Chantry._ "

"He-- what?" Alistair stared at her, blinking stupidly. The words had registered, but they didn't make any sense. "I must have heard you wrong, because I thought you just said that Anders blew up the Kirkwall Chantry."

"Oh, you heard me right." Elissa held the parchment out to him. "It's all here, in black and white. I've read it at least three times, but it hasn't become any less true. See for yourself."

Alistair took the sheet of paper and read it over, slowly, his horror mounting with every word. The Chantry, destroyed by Anders -- not mentioned by name, but who else could "a Ferelden apostate with close ties to the Champion" be? The Grand Cleric killed in the explosion, along with dozens of sisters and an unknown number of civilians. The Right of Annulment proclaimed. Reports of fighting all over the city: abominations, demons, blood mages, and battle-maddened templars all on the rampage. A fierce battle in the Circle that left both the Knight-Commander and the Senior Enchanter dead. The Champion fled, Anders most likely with her. In short, a bloody mess. "Maker!" Alistair breathed. "What a disaster."

The letter, which ended with a plea to contain the Ferelden Circle in hopes of stopping the violence from spreading, was signed by "Acting Knight-Commander Cullen", at which Alistair raised his eyebrows. That could be helpful, or it could be a problem. But he couldn't spare any time to think through the implications just yet. He looked up from the letter to Elissa, who was still vibrating with fury.

"I saw him. Not two months ago, I saw him, and I looked him in the eye, and I told him not to do anything stupid. I suppose now I know what my influence with him is worth." She turned to look the courier, whose presence she seemed to have forgotten until that moment. "Leave us," she snapped.

The boy bowed. "Yes, my lady. Shall I wait for a return message?"

"Not at this time," Alistair replied. "Thank you for your service."

"Your Majesty." The courier bowed again, then backed out of the room with haste, closing the door behind him. Alistair turned his attention back to Elissa, who had moved to stare out the window which, as it happened, faced north, roughly in the direction of Kirkwall.

He crossed the room to her, his hand brushing against her elbow. "Love--"

She shook him off, still looking into the distance. "Why? What could have driven them to do something so monumentally _stupid_?" Her voice shook, and then she did turn to him; her anger was fading, replaced by an aching sadness, and Alistair pulled her into his arms. "I tried-- I tried so hard to help him-- why didn't he trust me?" She punctuated her words by pounding her fist against his chest, and he tightened his embrace, resting his cheek on the top of her head.

"You cannot blame yourself, my dear."

Her voice was muffled against his shirt, thick with unshed tears. "I know. And I don't. Not truly. I have no illusions regarding who should carry the blame. But--" For a long moment she fell silent, and Alistair stroked her back, tracing slow circles with his palm. Then she let out a slow sigh. "I still wish he had chosen differently."

Alistair led her to his desk chair, and she collapsed into it, face in her hands. He gently rubbed the back of her neck. "It'll be all right," he said. "I would stay with you if I could, but I must make haste to the Circle. First Enchanter Petra is a level-headed sort, but she's so new in her role, and Greagoir is likely to be jumpy after what happened during the Blight." He shook his head. "Petra will need my support if she's to hold things together. I only hope the news doesn't arrive too far ahead of me."

"Yes. You must go, and quickly." Elissa dropped her hands and looked up at him, already composed and calm once again. "I'll keep order here as best I can. I only hope the Chantry doesn't think too hard about my past association with him."

"As do I." Alistair knelt down to bring his face even with hers and gave her a quick kiss. "You'll be all right?"

"Of course I will." She gave him a smile, and he framed her cheeks with his hands. But his plan to kiss her more thoroughly was thwarted by another knock at the door, and he stood and turned.

"Enter," he called, and the door opened to reveal another messenger, this one an elf girl dressed in the livery of the harbormaster, identifying her as a runner from the docks. "What is it?"

"Message for the Queen, Your Majesty," she said. "From a woman named Isabela? She said to remind you that you used to play Wicked Grace."

"Isabela?" Elissa stood with a frown. "I haven't spoken to her in years. What could she want with me?"

Alistair felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach as he remembered where he had last seen the pirate, and in whose company. "Wait in the parlor for a return message," he told the girl, who bowed in acknowledgement, then closed the door. Then he turned back to Elissa and set her back down in the chair, leaning close, speaking swiftly, under his breath. "Isabela is, or at least was, an associate of Marian Hawke. She was with her when we met in Kirkwall."

Elissa closed her eyes and let her head fall backwards with a sharp breath. "Oh, bloody hell."

"You can say that again." Alistair glanced out the window, the spire of Denerim's Chantry looming in the corner of his vision. "Whatever happens next, I can know nothing of it. _Nothing._ You act as a Grey Warden in this matter, not as an agent of the Crown. If even a whiff of royal involvement is detected..." He shook his head. "Given a choice between another Blight and open war with the Divine? I'd take my chances with the archdemon."

"If anyone asks, you left before the second message arrived." She clasped his hands in hers. "I'll protect you, my love. You can count on me."

"I know." He kissed her again, longer and harder this time. "Now, I'm going to make my preparations to travel to Lake Calenhad, and you can do... whatever you need to do.

Despite everything, she smiled again, and he breathed easier at her resilience. "Good luck. I won't ask you to wish me the same." She leaned forward and rested her forehead against his for a moment before gracing him with one last, swift kiss. "Now go."

-x-

For several minutes after Alistair's departure, Elissa stayed motionless in his chair, hardly daring even to breathe. She recognized her stillness as denial, some small part of her hoping against hope that if she sat and waited for long enough, ignored the message and the messenger, that it would all just go away. Or maybe Andraste would come back from the grave to smite them all down. It seemed just as likely. Still, it was a comforting dream.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, allowed herself a small prayer for strength, and then stood, walking out the door and into the parlor, where the red-headed elf sat quietly, waiting to be given a task. "I have a return message for the lady Isabela. Tell her this: I remember our game of Wicked Grace, and she should bring the other players to the river crossroads at dusk. Can you remember that?"

The girl stood and nodded. "Of course, m'lady."

"Good. But you'd best forget that you ever saw the king."

Putting her hands behind her back, the girl's eyes widened with an air of innocence. "The king? I've never seen the king, m'lady. Only from far away during a parade, once."

Elissa favored her with a quick smile. "Good girl." She pressed an extra sovereign into the runner's small hand; the elf bowed, then skipped off, clearly pleased by her afternoon of easy money. Elissa watched her go and thought about what to do next.

From the very beginning, Elissa and Alistair had prepared for the possibility that the interests of the Grey Wardens and Ferelden might not always align. Upon his coronation, Alistair had officially retired from duty, renouncing his oath and responsibilities to the Wardens, while Elissa had taken care to style herself as Queen-Consort rather than Queen, leaving Alistair as sole authority over Ferelden. Alistair was a friend of the Wardens, and Elissa a close advisor to the throne, but the line between their roles remained bright, and so far unimpeachable. She hoped that would be enough to shield Alistair from the effects of her decision. Whatever that might be -- she was far from certain that she could even offer sanctuary to Anders, given the enormity of his crime. Or that he would be willing to return to the Wardens. Or that Wardens would be willing to take him back.

Elissa rested her cheek against the cool windowpane, allowing herself one last moment to look down into the palace courtyard, where soldiers and dogs and horses gathered together to ride to the Circle. She recognized Alistair's horse, a stable boy securing his armored saddle while he stood at attention in the center of the courtyard. Was Alistair riding to war? She dearly hoped not, but the prospects for a simple resolution to this conflict seemed bleak. And she worried for him, thinking of the horrors might be facing as he once again walked straight into a Circle Tower that might be overrun by demons. He might have to fight hundreds of abominations; at least she only faced the prospect of dealing with one.

And she would trade places with him in a heartbeat.

She waited just long enough to see his blond head appear, in amongst the knights and foot soldiers, the way he preferred to travel, decked out in fine silverite armor, a helm tucked under his arm. Then she turned back from the window -- she could never bear to watch him ride away. And she had preparations of her own to make.

-x-

After a quick meal, Elissa had changed into her Grey Warden armor and set out for the crossroads on foot. Not an actual road; every smuggler in Denerim knew that "the river crossroads" referred to a joining of two rivers just north of the city. Elissa trusted the message to be clear to Isabela but cryptic enough to pass scrutiny if the runner were intercepted. She had no reason to believe that the Chantry was watching her, but she had no reason not to believe it, either. Better to be safe.

And her efforts were rewarded; there was Isabela, with longer hair than Elissa remembered, but still recognizable, standing in front of a copse of trees. "Majesty," she said, bobbing in a satiric curtsey.

Elissa shook her head. "Not today. Call me Warden."

"If that makes you feel better," Isabela replied with a shrug. "In here." Elissa followed her into the thicket, where three people stood waiting: a woman with long dark hair and gentle eyes, dressed in mage robes; Marian Hawke, erstwhile Champion of Kirkwall, decked out in full armor and shifting restlessly from foot to foot; and Anders.

After exchanging a brief nod of greeting with Hawke, Elissa walked up to Anders, who neither flinched nor looked away but only faced forward with a calm expression. "Commander," he said.

Without a word, Elissa lifted a gauntleted hand and slapped him across the face, hard. His head snapped to the side, and he spat blood before looking back at her, the outline of her handprint red on his cheek, a small cut in his lip.

"I deserved that, I suppose."

"That, and about a thousand more." Elissa crossed her arms and let her fury flow again, as fresh and raw as when she had first read the letter. "How could you?"

"Someone had to strike a blow for freedom." Despite his obvious weariness, Anders stood up straighter, a flash of defiance in his eyes -- or was that Justice at work? Elissa wished she could be certain. "It is time to stop pretending that the Circle is a solution, that the Chantry is anything other than an oppressor."

"And so your answer is to turn everyone's worst nightmares about mages into a stark reality." Elissa clapped her hands together three times in mocking applause. "Well done. Congratulations. I hope you're satisfied." She turned to Hawke. "And you?"

Anders stepped in front of Hawke before she could answer, shaking his head fiercely. "She did not know. I swear it! I kept my plans from her. She is blameless in this."

Elissa gritted her teeth. "Is she? I'm so glad to hear it. And I'm sure the templars will give you all the time in the world to explain that detail before they cut you both down like Blight wolves." She glared up at him. "Perhaps you could allow her to speak for herself?"

Hawke caught his eyes and shook her head. "Anders. Please." He stepped aside, and she looked at Elissa with a haunted expression -- dark circles beneath her eyes, a deep furrow etched into her brow. "It's true, as far as it goes: he never told me of his plans. But I was involved, if unwittingly, and I should have realized. And so I will have to live with the blood of hundreds on my hands, because I didn't act decisively enough to stop it."

Anders flinched at that, and Elissa shot him a sharp look. "So, you can feel remorse after all. It doesn't seem quite as heroic when the people you care about share your fall from grace, does it? When they carry your murders on their backs?"

"Do you think I enjoyed killing them?" It came out as a strangled cry, and he lowered his head, grasping his face in his hands. "Every life lost that day weighs on my soul, and they always will. I hear their voices and know it was I who silenced them. I tossed and turned every night for a year, trying to think of any other way. But there was no other way. Not if we are to be free." He started to shake, his facade crumbling to show a glimpse of the glow within, and Elissa's hand tensed, ready to pull her sword if need be.

"Justice!" Hawke's head whipped to the side as she saw the change coming over him. "How dare you-- after all this-- this is all your fault!"

"We have tried and tried to tell you." It was Justice's voice that came forth as he raised his face, bright with the energy of his spirit, and met Hawke's eyes. She took a step back, shaken. "The clean line you try to draw between us does not exist. We are two, but we are also one. In this matter, we act together. Always."

Elissa looked at his face and knew it was true. Suddenly she was overwhelmed by a wave of sadness. "Andraste's sacred ashes," she murmured. "What have you done to each other?" Justice-in-Anders turned to her, blue-white eyes boring straight into her soul, and Elissa took a slow step forward, reaching out with tenderness this time, laying a hand on the cheek she had slapped only moments ago. "The Justice I knew, the Anders I knew... neither of them would have condoned the slaughter of innocents." She had to swallow down a lump in her throat. "What happened to those men? They were my friends. I miss them."

He took a sharp breath, and then Justice disappeared, snapping back into Anders or the Fade or wherever it was his spirit resided during the quiet times; Anders turned away and would not look back. "They've gone," he whispered to the ground. "Burned away by too much hatred, a lifetime of oppression, the white heat of rage. I'm sorry."

"So am I." Elissa moved to Hawke, who stared bleakly into the distance. "Why did you come here?"

Hawke glanced at Isabela, who responded with a brisk nod. "Ship leaves in five hours," she said. "Regardless of who is or is not on it. Warden." She nodded to Elissa, clasped hands with the stranger, who responded with a soft smile, and embraced Hawke, bestowing a swift but passionate kiss on her mouth. "Until the next time, yeah?" She stroked Hawke's cheek, cast one last pained look at the unresponsive Anders, and then she was gone.

Hawke focused on the space between the trees for a long moment before speaking again. "When you came to Kirkwall, you offered Anders sanctuary with the Wardens. After what he has done, I understand if you rescind the offer. But it was the best thing I could think to try."

"As I thought." Elissa stepped back, tapping her foot. "Before we continue, may I ask after the identity of your companion?"

Hawke gestured toward the younger woman. "My sister, Bethany. Until recently, a mage of the Kirkwall Circle. Traveling with us, for now. You may trust her as you trust me." Her mouth made a wry twist. "And if that is very little, I could hardly blame you. But she had even less involvement with these machinations than I. She may, in fact, be the only mage in all Thedas with no hidden plans or agenda."

Bethany stepped forward with a curtsey. "A pleasure to meet you, Your--"

"No." Elissa held up her hand. "Do not use that title. I am Elissa, a Grey Warden providing aid to a brother, nothing more, nothing less. As far as you all are concerned, the Crown doesn't even know you are here. Is that clear?" No one moved, until Hawke responded with a quick look to her sister, then a nod. "Good. Now we can talk business. One thing I must make clear: The Grey Wardens of Amaranthine cannot shelter Anders. _Cannot._ We are too weak here, too broadly seen as Alistair's allies despite our official neutrality. Ferelden is still recovering from a Blight; how long do you think we would stand up against an Exalted March? I will not risk it, nor will I ask the Warden-Commander to do so."

"Disappointing, but reasonable," Hawke said, shrugging. "What are our options, then?"

Elissa crossed her arms with a thoughtful frown. "Not Orlais. The Wardens there are better established as an independent power, but they still operate in the shadow of Val Royeaux, and Ferelden's political position there is not the strongest. I suspect you will want to avoid the Marches, and most of the Warden groups in most of the other nations are too small to shield anyone. Only Tevinter and Weisshaupt are large enough to disappear a fugitive. If Anders had committed his crimes in service of the Wardens -- killing darkspawn, fending off a Blight -- I am certain the First would help him, but this situation is murkier. We could try it, if you wish. But I think Tevinter is your best bet."

"Tevinter." Hawke sucked thoughtfully on her teeth. "I'm not crazy about the idea, but it does seem the safest, for many reasons."

Anders looked back up, frowning, and broke his silence. "I am not certain--"

Hawke whipped her head around to look at him, eyes flashing. "You don't get a vote," she snapped. "You got us into this mess, now let me get us out of it. Before you make matters any worse."

Elissa stepped between them, cutting off the argument before it could begin. "I'm afraid he has to be involved. Because I have two conditions, both of which he must agree to." She turned around and faced Anders. "First, you will return to active duty as a Grey Warden. The Wardens will sometimes act to protect their former brethren, but in this case, it would be asking too much. If you take back up your oath, I will work to secure sanctuary for you. But only for you. Not for Justice. That is my second condition: you _will_ undergo the ritual to separate from him, as we discussed on my visit to Kirkwall." She shook her head. "Not negotiable."

"I--" Anders looked down at his hands. Then he looked up at Hawke; Elissa saw a long, wordless communication between them, the hope and pleading that poured off Hawke even brighter than the light of Justice brimming within Anders. Their eyes locked together for what seemed an eternity; Anders looked away first, with a glance to the sky and then to Elissa. "We have been together so long. I don't know what chance this ritual will have to work," he said. "But we can try."

Hawke slumped with relief as she stepped back against Bethany, who brought her arms around her sister's shoulders. "Thank you," she whispered. "Oh, thank you."

Elissa sighed. "I can promise no more than Anders, especially regarding sanctuary for you and Bethany. You are not Wardens, after all. I suppose we could conscript you, but I hate to do it with no darkspawn-related emergency afoot. If we started using the Right of Conscription to shelter just anyone, it would weaken it for its true purpose. Not that a fighter of your caliber wouldn't be welcome, Champion," she felt compelled to add. "But I would still worry about appearances."

"I'll figure something out." Hawke glanced at Anders with a weak smile; his answering nod was more solid. "I always do."

"All right," Elissa said. "I'll take you to a Warden safe house on the outskirts of the city. It may take some time to make arrangements for the ritual. Normally I would send to the Circle Tower, but as you might guess, they have their own problems at the moment." She tried not to glare too fiercely at Anders, but wasn't entirely successful. "It will have to be the Dalish, I think; I have friends among their people, and a group has been settled not too far outside the city for the last few months."

Anders and Hawke exchanged a look, and it was Hawke who spoke. "We, ah, may not be on the best of terms with the Dalish right now. Probably shouldn't risk it."

Elissa groaned and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "You just make friends everywhere you go, don't you? Fine. I'll have to work some less savory contacts, then, which might take more time."

"Let me know what I can do," said Bethany. "I haven't much experience with this kind of magic, nor do I have recent contacts in Ferelden, but I want to help."

"When the time comes to perform the ritual, I'm sure your help will be needed and appreciated." Elissa nodded to Bethany, then looked at Hawke. She didn't quite dare to look at Anders -- too much risk of hitting him again. "Follow me."


	2. Chapter 2

It took three full days, and the calling in of more favors than Elissa cared to think about, but by the fourth evening she was at the door of the safe house, three apostate mages in tow. All were former Gallows mages who had escaped before the Rite of Annulment: one with the direct assistance of Anders, the others through the network that he'd helped create. She hoped it would be enough to buy their cooperation, and their silence.

She paused in the foyer. "Wait here," she said, and then rapped on the door, four short knocks, a pause, and then two more. The door opened a bare crack to reveal a brilliant green eye; upon recognizing Elissa, Hawke opened the door all the way and sheathed her dagger as she stepped aside.

"I expected this to take longer," she said, crossing her arms. She looked tired, the shadows under her eyes both darker and deeper than before.

Elissa walked through the door and into the sitting room. The house was plain but comfortable, with a small kitchen in the corner, and three doors off the main room, each leading to a sleeping quarters. Bethany appeared to be busying herself in the kitchen; Anders stood near the window as if to look outside, even though the glass was painted a solid black. She watched him for a moment, then addressed Hawke's implied question. "I need this taken care of as soon as possible. Every minute you spend here is a minute we are in danger. You understand."

"Then maybe we shouldn't be here." Anders spoke up without turning away from the window. "I'm not sure I even trust the Wardens' protection, given that they've never exactly protect me from templar interference before."

Elissa shot him a look. "You really think it was your pitiful bribes and Darktown location that kept you beneath the templars' notice and out of the Gallows for seven years?" She raised a eyebrow. "The Wardens take care of their own, Anders. Never doubt that."

Anders stared back at her, then crossed his arms with a scowl. "I don't believe you."

She shrugged. "If you like. But the Wardens stationed outside Kirkwall knew exactly where your clinic was, and when you were most likely to be there."

His expression remained skeptical, although Elissa thought a flash of understanding passed through Hawke's eyes. He looked away again and waved her off. "Your terms are hard ones. Maybe helping me isn't worth it, especially if it brings you grief."

"You've already brought me grief." Elissa stalked across the room to him, moving to where he could not avoid her eyes. It was all she could do not to hit him again. "Do you have any idea how hard Alistair has worked to gain a measure of freedom for mages in Ferelden? Your grand gesture may have wiped all that progress away in a second." Or perhaps caused even more damage; she had, as yet, no way of knowing, since there had been no word from the Circle. It was too early, of course. Alistair probably hadn't even arrived at Lake Calenhad yet. But logic couldn't keep her from fretting.

"How much is a measure?" Anders shot back. "A glimpse of the world out the front door? Half measures are not enough!"

"Better than the death and destruction of all-out war." She shook her head and stepped away with a sigh. "I didn't come here to argue with you. Do you accept the help I offer, or not?"

Anders sat down on the threadbare sofa next to the covered windows, hands resting in his lap, looking into the distance. No one moved for a long moment, and then Anders looked up, deflated and defeated. "I said that I would try, and I will. Not because I have lost faith in my cause, or because I have given up on freedom for mages. But if I try to join the battle, I will become a distraction. Better for me to disappear into the ranks of the Wardens, at least for a time." He took a deep breath and turned away. "And I am-- tired. So tired of being driven, of being everything the people fear most. I am ready. So... I will try."

A sound came from under the sofa, followed by a small orange face and then the whole cat, back arching as he pressed against Anders's legs. Elissa could only stare as Anders snapped his fingers and the cat let out a chirrup before leaping into Anders's lap. "Ser Pounce-a-lot?"

"I couldn't abandon him." Pounce butted his head against Anders's chest; his hand curled around the cat's neck and the hint of a smile appeared on his face. "Not after you went to so much trouble to reunite us. Pounce is never leaving my side again."

Hawke crossed the room and stood behind Anders, a gentle hand falling on his shoulder; it was the first time Elissa had seen Hawke touch him since their arrival. "Cullen promised us safe passage out of the city, and we had to go back to my estate for a few things anyway," she said. "And-- I couldn't argue. Not with this."

Elissa swallowed around the lump rising in her throat. So Anders was still human after all; his hatred and Justice's fury hadn't managed to burn it all away. "I'm. I'm glad. And he'll be fine in Tevinter, I'm sure. He's always been a good traveler, for a cat."

"For anyone." Anders scratched Pounce between the ears, then beneath his chin. "I should have defied Justice and returned for him long ago."

"Maybe there's hope for you yet," Elissa murmured. Then she raised her voice. "Bethany, are you still willing to help?"

Bethany set her mug down on the counter and nodded. "I volunteer to travel into the Fade."

Hawke shook her head with a fierce frown. "I should be the one to go."

"You can't," Elissa said. "It takes vast amounts of magical energy to send a non-mage into the Fade, energy we don't have to spare. Bethany is the best option. Unless Anders has reason to object?"

"No, I concur." Anders looked up at Hawke, his eyes bright. "I need you here, where it's safe. Here, waiting for me. Here, giving me a reason to come back." His hand covered hers, their fingers lacing together, and they shared a look of affection that make Elissa's heart ache. For the briefest moment, she closed her eyes and sent her thoughts to Alistair, willing him to remember that she, too, was here, giving him every reason to return, safe and sound.

Then she recovered herself and cleared her throat. "Very well. I'll go get the mages." She opened the door and beckoned the trio inside: two human women and a male elf. As they entered, the shorter of the two women stepped forward with a shy smile.

"Hello, Anders."

His eyes flew open, and he scrambled to his feet, forgetting the cat in his excitement; Pounce let out a yelp as he fell and landed in a heap, then scurried back underneath the couch. "El-- Ella?! You... Why? How?"

"After you and Serah Hawke saved me from Ser Alrik, I made my way here with the help of the underground." She bowed her head. "I owe you my freedom and my life."

"You owe Hawke, you mean," he replied, a sharp current of bitterness in his words. "If she hadn't been there... if she hadn't stopped me--"

"But she was, and she did," Ella said gently. "And had you not come for me, I would now be Tranquil, or dead, or both. So I disagree: I do owe you a great debt, and however I can aid you, I will."

Anders closed his eyes and turned away; Elissa could see his jaw clenching, his hands balled into fists. When he looked up again, and opened his eyes, he looked weary past death. "I do not deserve your gratitude, nor your forgiveness. But I thank you for both. Perhaps I will soon be in a position to earn the latter." He raised his chin and looked at Bethany, then Hawke. "I'm ready."

There was a story here, but now was not the time to ask for it. Keen to get out of the way and let the mages start, Elissa stepped back, sitting on the small couch in the corner as the other female mage stepped forward with a smooth bow. "You never met me, Anders, but you know me. My name is Trina, and I operated the Mage Underground from the Gallows side for two years. My codename was Falcon."

"So you made it out?" A brief smile flashed over Anders's features. "When I stopped getting your messages, I worried."

"Without need, as you can see." She gestured to the other mages. "Ella and Syrol will guide you into the Fade and hold you there. But first, I need you to sleep." He closed his eyes, and she stepped forward, placing her left hand on Anders's face -- her middle finger above the bridge of his nose, thumb and little finger resting on his cheekbones. She breathed in, then out, chanting a few words; his body relaxed as he matched her breathing, and he slumped against the back of the sofa. Meanwhile, the other two mages each downed a lyrium potion before beginning a chant of their own, mysterious syllables spoken in unison, and they began to shimmer and flicker, a cloud of silver gathering around them as they lifted their arms skyward and entered a trance.

This was the tense moment: would Justice resist and jolt Anders awake? But no -- as the other mages slipped deeper into the Fade, Anders's body relaxed even more, his head falling forward, shoulders drooping. He began to glow as well, but it was the pale shimmer of a lyrium trance, not the hot white light of Justice emerging. Elissa let out her breath, then pulled her satchel of lyrium up next to her on the couch. Before arriving, Trina had tasked her with ensuring that Ella and Syrol stayed in their trance state, so she would be keeping an eye on them, dosing them with more lyrium at need. She had gathered as much as she dared from the palace stockroom, and she prayed it would be enough.

Trina nodded, satisfied, then held her hand out to Bethany. "Bring a chair," she commanded, "and set it in front of him."

Bethany obeyed, then paused, her hand resting on the chair back. "What must I do?" she asked, looking first to Trina, then Elissa.

"My knowledge is, by necessity, second hand," Elissa said. "But it is my understanding, from speaking with Jowan, that you will find both Anders and Justice in the Fade. Defeat Justice, or convince him to move on, and Anders will be free."

Hawke shuffled her feel nervously. "I hate to complicate matters, but it may work differently in this case. I once traveled into the Fade with Anders, and he and Justice were a single being, with Justice in control. I don't know that you can vanquish Justice without fighting Anders as well."

"You should take special care, then," said Trina with a frown. "Harm Anders in the Fade, and we run the risk of making him Tranquil." Hawke paled, and Trina glanced at her with sympathy. "In truth, we are risking that regardless. I do not know if it is possible to turn a mage who has been an abomination for so many years. But I expect he was aware of this possibility when he agreed to it."

"If so, he didn't tell me." Hawke turned away. "But so be it. If it comes, I know what I must do."

Bethany covered her mouth with her hand. "Marian," she whispered. "You can't mean..." Hawke would not meet her sister's eyes, nor did she answer, and Elissa felt her heart sink. Of course Anders would rather be dead than Tranquil. The question was, would she let Hawke carry out that wish, if it came to that? She prayed not to have to find out.

"We must not delay too much longer," Trina said, and Bethany appeared to shake herself free of her grim thoughts before sitting down in the chair across from Anders, her hands folded in her lap as she looked at him with thoughtful concentration. "Now. Who will stand as the sacrifice?"

"Sacrifice?" Hawke stood half out of her seat, eyebrows up in alarm, and Bethany shook her head. "I thought we were using lyrium to power the spell."

"We have enough lyrium to send one mage into the Fade," Trina replied. "Not two."

"And so we resort to blood magic." Hawke scowled. "Does this mean yet another person must die for Anders's grand gesture?"

Trina shook her head. "No one will die today. The spell requires a significant amount of life force, yes, but not the ultimate sacrifice. I will take a measure of my own blood; however, the spell will be more potent if I mingle it with that of someone who bears a closer relationship to the subject: a friend, a commander, a lover." She looked at each of the women in turn. "I could use any of you, as long as it is freely given, though it would be best for Bethany to save her strength."

Elissa, who had known this request was coming, started to remove her bracers, but Hawke stopped her with a look. "It has to be me, of course it does. But I must protest. If Anders had known you were a blood mage..."

"But he does not," Trina interrupted smoothly. "And there is no need to tell him -- if all goes well, I can have you healed before he awakens, and if we fail, it will hardly matter. Do you want us to succeed?"

Hawke exchanged another look with Bethany, who raised her shoulder in a quick shrug. "It's not my decision, big sister," she said. "I'm no fan of blood magic, but we both know that we have benefited from its use in the past. If you believe it to be worth the risks, I will proceed."

With a deep sigh, Hawke raised a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. "Damn you, Anders," she grumbled. "These bridges you keep forcing me to cross... it would serve you right if I walked out of this room right now and left you to face all your own consequences without my help." She looked up, lifting her gaze to the ceiling, and then she turned her head, meeting Elissa's eyes.

"But you can't, can you," Elissa said, softly. "No more than I could've."

Hawke shook her head, with a half laugh of recognition. "What is it about this man that inspires our loyalty?"

"If I knew, I'd bottle it and sell it on the open market," Elissa replied, lips twisting into a wry smile. "We could fund the rebuilding effort in less than a year."

Hawke's chuckle was more genuine this time. "No kidding." In a single motion, she removed her weapons and then her armored jacket, setting them down on the sofa next to Anders. "I'm ready," she said.

"Good," Trina said. "Come here, then, and take my hand." Hawke obeyed, lacing her strong fingers through Trina's more delicate ones; with her free hand, Trina pulled a knife from her belt, then looked at Bethany. "Are you ready?"

"I am." Bethany took a lyrium potion out of her robe pocket, drank it in a single draught, then closed her eyes, murmuring a few words under her breath.

"Spirits!" Trina threw her head back and let out a fearsome shout. "Hear our call!" She slashed downward, two quick motions, first cutting open the vein in her own forearm, then Hawke's; Hawke took a sharp breath, air hissing between her teeth, but she did not cry out. Trina pressed her open wound against Hawke's, letting their blood mingle as it dripped into a basin she had placed between them on the floor. Her chant began, louder and more strident than the other mages', setting up a counterpoint, weaving in and out, Bethany's soft words thrumming beneath.

The scene was similar to the ritual Elissa had witnessed at Redcliffe Castle and yet also different. It frightened her to see Anders's slack face as Bethany slipped into the sparkle of the trance with him, and Hawke wavering on her feet as the blood flowed from her arm. But there was a hypnotic beauty to their dance was well: Trina holding Hawke up as they rocked in unison, Ella and Syrol swaying to their own distinct tune. Only Elissa was separate, not a party to the spell, and all she could do was watch, and pray.

Then she felt a light bump against her ankle, and Elissa looked down: it was Ser Pounce-a-lot, emerged from his hiding place, softly mewing. She patted her thigh, and he jumped up into her lap, butting his head into her hand. Letting out a grateful sigh, she petted him, scratching his face and rubbing the scruff of his neck, and he settled down into her lap with a soft rumbling purr.

-x-

 _Bethany opens her eyes to find herself in the half-blurred world of the Fade. The chanting falls away, becomes only a distant hum in her ears as she looks around, taking stock of her surroundings. She has been in the Fade several times before, but this is a corner she does not know: an old-growth forest, trees reaching for the sky and blocking out what would be the sun in the real world; the ground covered by moss instead of grass; rocks and desiccated plants crunching distantly beneath her feet. She is alone in a silent world: no sounds of chirping birds, buzzing insects, or running water, no spirits in evidence, and she sees no sign of either Anders or Justice; only the Black City looms, far in the distance._

 _"Anders?" she calls out, the sound of her voice falling flat in the dead air. "Justice? Anders? Are you there?"_

 _There is no echo, no reply, but then she expects neither. The bed of a dried stream runs along her right side, and she decides to follow it. By necessity, the segment of the Fade that Ella and Syrol have created for them is small, so they cannot be far. One foot in front of the other, she concentrates on her goal -- Justice, Anders, freedom for them both -- and pushes forward through the ever-thickening stands of trees._

-x-

Elissa lost all concept of the passage of time as the chant settled into a rhythmic cycle, each stanza blending into the next and turning around to repeat. Twice she stood up to refresh the mages with lyrium, first Syrol, then Ella -- each time, she had placed the flask in an outstretched hand and the mage had paused to drink without opening their eyes or ceasing their dance. Twice Elissa had sat back on the couch, and Ser Pounce-a-lot had settled back into her lap, curling into a ball and falling back to sleep. It was comforting, and yet strange, as though he both understood that she needed company while having no concept that anything out of the ordinary was happening. She almost fell into a trance herself, between the droning chants and the vibration of the cat's purr under her hand...

Until she was jarred free by a gasping intake of breath from Hawke. Elissa turned her attention to the Champion and the Blood Mage, a direction she had been very careful not to look. Trina had opened her eyes and stepped away from Hawke, who swayed, face pale from blood loss, then stumbled to Elissa's couch, eyes fluttering shut as she practically collapsed into the other corner. Elissa pulled a poultice out of her stash and applied it to Hawke's arm, cleaning up the blood and covering the wound. Then she looked over to Trina, who was still smeared with Hawke's blood and her own.

Trina took a deep breath and met Elissa's eyes. "It is done. They are secure in the Fade. Now I will join with Ella and Syrol to maintain the connection."

"Will it be enough?" Elissa asked.

"It will have to be," Trina replied. "The rest is up to Bethany."

Hawke opened her eyes and looked at her sister; thanks to the healing poultice, her color was already returning, although her face was still drawn with pain. "Beth," she murmured. "You can do it. I know you can."

"She is strong." Trina nodded. "If she can keep her focus, I think she will do well. Now I must lend my aid to Ella and Syrol. I will let you know if I require further assistance."

 _Or another infusion,_ Elissa thought as Trina fell back into the trance, her stomach twisting as it always did when she thought of blood magic. She had met a few Grey Warden blood mages over the years, and although she accepted that the Wardens needed to make use of every tool at their disposal, it still never sat quite right.

Next to her, Hawke settled uneasily back against the couch cushions. Her eyes were fixed on Bethany and Anders, the two of them facing each other. At some point in the proceedings, Bethany had taken his hands in hers, and from her posture she seemed to be staring intently at him, though her eyes were still closed. Anders was sitting up straighter now, too, frozen in place. It was disturbing, and Elissa didn't really want to watch, but it was hard to look away, too.

Pounce stirred in her lap, yawning and standing up to stretch, and then took a few steps to settle down on Hawke's thighs instead. Hawke's hand drifted downward to the cat's back; she petted him a few times, and then her fingers settled around the back of his neck. "Hey, cat," she said.

Elissa relaxed just a little. "You seem to get along well with him."

Hawke shrugged. "Well enough. Although like most normal Fereldens, I'm more of a dog person."

Elissa had to chuckle. "Anders was never one to do anything the normal way."

"You can say that again," Hawke muttered through gritted teeth. She sighed and looked away from her sister and her lover, turning toward Elissa as she rested her head against the back of the sofa. "I hate this. I hate everything about it. But I hate most that there isn't anything I can _do_. Ever since Anders destroyed the Chantry, and for a little while before that, I've felt like the pawn of events. As though no choice I make will ever have any kind of lasting effect. People are just going to do whatever stupid and destructive thing they want to do, and all I can do is watch. Like now."

"You seem like a woman who likes to be in control of everything." Elissa smiled. "And, as they say, takes one to know one. Believe me, I understand." She rested a hand on Hawke's shoulder. "I've seen a lot of action in my time, but I've also done my share of waiting. And I know which side of that particular fence I'd rather be on."

"Well." Hawke patted the cat again. "I suppose this time we haven't got much choice in the matter. And at least I'm not waiting alone." She caught Elissa's eye again with a weak smile. "Thanks."

Elissa squeezed Hawke's shoulder before dropping her hand. "You're welcome." She settled back into the sofa cushions and let herself drift back into the strange peace of the chant, willing this to work.


	3. Chapter 3

_The forests of the Fade grow thicker and more impenetrable with every step Bethany takes. She pushes aside one tree branch, then another, then uses gravity to nudge aside the thick underbrush that threatens to capture her feet. "Should have worn boots," she mutters under her breath before catching herself with a quick chuckle. She is in the Fade -- if she wants boots, all she need do is wish for boots to appear. But she dares not work any unnecessary magic; it might draw the wrong sort of attention. These shoes will have to do._

_She closes her eyes for a moment, refocuses on the task at hand. "Anders?" She calls his name, sidestepping the writing mass of vines that springs from the ground -- he must have learned that trick from Merrill. Leaning forward, she peers into the dark grove. Is that a glow she spies ahead, a mage-spark, a sign of life? She presses through the thickets, time slowing as she pushes past the barrier, the ground sucking at her feet like swamp mud, each step harder than the last, the air growing thicker, colder, her breath forming into ice droplets that hang before her--_

_Bethany senses the incoming blizzard just in time to lift a hand against it, summoning a fireball to counter the snow; they vaporize together into a fine mist, and she breathes deeply of the warm, humid air. No question, now. This is Anders at his full power, treating her as he would any invading enemy, and she must be on her guard. Carefully, she unhooks her staff and twirls it in front of her, creating air currents to gather the fog about her, obscuring her from view. A trick her sister taught her; she shuts her eyes again and longs for Marian: her confidence, her tactical genius, her steadying presence. But Bethany must do this alone, for Marian's sake -- she has seen the fear in her sister's eyes, the sadness, whenever she talks about Justice and the burdens he makes Anders carry. Marian has sacrificed so much for her family, for her friends, for Kirkwall; surely Bethany can do this one thing for her in return._

_The light in the distance dims, then snaps out of view, only to reappear several yards to the right, and Bethany realizes that chasing it is folly. Anders is at least ten years her senior and a powerful mage, Circle-trained; Justice is an ageless spirit, a creature of the Fade. She is no match for either of them singly, much less their skills combined. Her only hope is to meet them on a ground of her own choosing, bind them, and then reason with them. She closes her eyes and traces the lines of force leading to the center of the world -- gravity may be mere illusion here, but it is an illusion that mages agree to treat as truth, just as they agree to believe in the heat of fire, the cold of ice, the restorative powers of healing. Following the lines to their source, then through the earth, then to the patch of ground where Anders stands, Bethany gathers them together in her hands and pulls with all her might. Reality groans and warps around her, a swirling vortex of force, and she yanks the threads harder, pulling them toward her, hand over hand, like hauling a full bucket out of a well. And then, with a sucking sound, her target comes through the vortex and pops out in front of her: Anders, but Anders as she has never seen him. He towers over her, taller than usual, and his eyes glow with a white hot light, righteous fury personified. Six years ago, three years ago, Bethany would have cowered before him, but now she draws her back straight, determination stiffening her spine and her resolve._

_"Who dares?!" It is the voice of Justice, Bethany knows, though she has only heard it twice before: six years ago, during their failed attempt to rescue Karl from the Chantry, and only a few days past in the grove -- a grove, she suddenly realizes, very much like this one. The mages outside brought them this patch of Fade, but she wonders how much Anders influences its form. She returns her staff to its place on her back and opens her hands, showing, she hopes, her intentions to negotiate rather than fight._

_"I am Bethany Hawke, and I'm here to help you keep your promise to my sister."_

_Justice lifts his chin, the white fire covering him, almost too bright to look at, but Bethany forces herself not to look away. "We made no promises of any sort," he replies, a haughty force behind his words. "Anders said he would try, but what does that mean, in the end?"_

_"It means that Anders loves Marian and will do what he can for her."_

_"Love." Justice shakes his head. "What is love, in the face of ending a thousand years of oppression?"_

_"Everything," Bethany counters. "Why else would Anders have agreed to this meeting?"_

_Justice narrows his eyes. "Our reasons are our own, not to be shared with anyone else. Including you. Now, begone! and leave us be." He lifts his staff overhead, twirling it over his shoulders, and Bethany sees a lick of lightning forming along the wooden shaft. Sideways she leaps, just in time to avoid the swirl and strike of electricity, a scorch mark appearing on the ground where she had stood._

_"I don't want to fight you," she calls out, turning around to face him again._

_"Then leave!"_

_"No." Bethany reaches over her shoulder to pull her staff free, and with a swoop of her arm she drops a bright purple swirl of spirit energy around his shoulders, twisting the lines of gravitational force to bring his arms to his sides and hold them there. Too late, Justice realizes what is happening; he wrestles against the heavy bonds to no avail. Circle training has been good for something, Bethany reflects, as she speaks the words they taught her for holding demons: "Creature of the Fade, here I hold and bind you; you will not leave this spot until I speak the word of release."_

_"Foolish girl!" Justice struggles harder, the light of his aura glowing even hotter than the bright bands that hold him in place. "Do you think you and your Circle can defeat us?"_

_Bethany can hear, now, the echo of Anders in his voice, the higher tones floating above Justice's ringing bass, and the effect is somehow more menacing than Justice alone. But she stands her ground, tightened her fingers on her staff. "It's not my Circle, but yes, I do. But as I said, I do not wish to fight you. Please, Justice. Can't we talk this through like reasonable people?"_

_Justice stared back at her with unblinking eyes. "We have made it clear. The time for talking is done."_

-x-

Time crept slowly by: one hour, then two. Elissa and Hawke perched together on the sofa as Ser Pounce-a-lot napped between them. The three mages had stopped chanting, but they continued to trace circles in the air with their hands, weaving through and around each other in perfect harmony. And Bethany and Anders remained frozen in place, hands joined, staring at each other through closed eyelids. Of everything that was happening, that was the most unnerving to Elissa: watching the two of them, wondering if any progress was being made.

Hawke turned to Elissa, cleared her dry throat. "Did it take this long, before? In Redcliffe?"

"No," Elissa replied, voice hushed as though she feared to wake a sleeping child. Even though she doubted whether a parade of ogres marching through could break the mages' trances. "But that was different, because Jowan wasn't worried about protecting the demon -- the plan was always to vanquish it. This situation is more delicate."

"I suppose." Hawke's head fell forward, and she rubbed her temple. "If it weren't for fear of harming Anders with a forcible separation, I might have-- Anders!"

The interruption came from the couch, a groan followed by a sobbing gasp, and both women's heads snapped up. Anders was twitching, twisting from side to side as if to wrench himself free from some trap, but Bethany's hands held him in an iron grip, her knuckles white from effort. The noise even woke Pounce, who opened his eyes and looked around with a questioning mew. Hawke's eyes were wide, and she moved as if to get up, but Elissa placed a firm hand on her shoulder, holding her in place.

"Let it play out," she said. "You don't know what you might be interrupting."

"You're right, I know, but..." Hawke groaned and dropped her head in her hands. "Maker, I hate this."

Elissa squeezed her hand, attempting reassurance this time. "I know. But it should be over soon, either way. Do you trust Bethany?"

Hawke looked up, and her eyes were bright. "With my life. And his."

"Then hold onto that." Elissa patted her shoulder one last time, then let her hand fall. "It'll be enough." She scratched Pounce between the ears; the cat looked up at her with a curious chirrup. "It'll be enough," she repeated, partly to Pounce but mostly to herself.

-x-

 _Power flows between Bethany and the cage around Justice. He is strong, but she makes herself stronger, planting her feet against the earth and drawing from the forces there. She is not sure how long she can keep this up; she only knows that she must._

_"Please," she murmurs, shuddering under the force as he attempts to send a surge down the connection, attempting to overload it and break free. She smooths the line, throwing the extra magic off into space. It crackles like lightning but does not ignite, and she breathes more easily, steeling herself for the next attack._

_"No!" the spirit snarls, and Bethany looks up. He is lowering his head, gathering more power, the light he throws off too bright to look at. "You will not take this from us. We will all be dead first."_

_A thrill of fear whips through Bethany at these words, but she only sets her mouth into a determined line. "Then so be it," she says. She knows what she risked, coming here. Death is frightening, Tranquility more so, but she will see her choice through to the end._

_The magic is rushing back toward her, whipping back and forth between them, gathering momentum, and she is powerless to stop it. They are stronger than she is; she knows it now, and all she can do is hold steady, attempt to channel the energy through her and hope it does not cause too much damage. The first spark is not too much, but the second buffets her with enough force that she has a hard time remaining on her feet. She takes a deep, painful breath, preparing to let it out, breathe fire if she has to, but she can feel her center burning away, burning, burning, too much magic to hold in one human body, soon she will have to let go..._

_"Enough!"_

_The cry is in Anders's voice, and the heat, the pressure, the pain all release together. Bethany shudders, gasping in relief. The figure of Justice blurs, then splits into two: one is a man in full-plate armor, face hidden by a helm, and the other is Anders, dressed in what looks to be Grey Warden robes, somehow both younger and older, his skin smooth but his eyes ancient, haunted. The white glow fades from them both, and they turn to face each other._

_"It's over," Anders says, softly. "Let it be."_

_The man in armor -- the spirit of Justice -- shakes his head. "But... the cause... there is so much left to do..."_

_Anders lifts a hand to Justice's shoulder. "Yes, but not by me. I always meant for you to be free, after. I thought I would die for my crimes, and that my death would set you loose. Perhaps it's not happening the way I envisioned it, but that doesn't mean it isn't right."_

_Justice is still shaking his head, but more slowly, as if trying to get his bearings in a new space. "I have been a part of you, living in the mortal world, for so long. I cannot imagine what losing that will be like."_

_"Nor can I." Anders steps closer and touches the helm at the jawline, and Bethany turns away -- this farewell is too personal, too terrible; she should not be here, she should not be watching. Instead she breathes, recovers her strength, lets the lines of gravity hold her steady, until she feels a hand on her arm: Anders. "I'm ready to go," he says._

_"Then let's wake up," Bethany replies, and she opens her eyes._

-x-

"Commander!"

Elissa sat up with a jerk -- had she fallen asleep? Was she dreaming? She looked at Hawke, who looked back at her; no one else moved. Even Anders had ceased his twitching and groaning, fallen instead into an ominous silence. "Did you hear that?"

Hawke frowned. "Hear what?"

The call came from behind, and so Elissa turned around, craning her head over the back of the couch; there was no one there, but she could swear she'd heard a voice speaking her title. 

"Warden-Commander?" It came again, louder this time, and then she saw something: light sparkling at the edge of her vision, forming into a human shape, a man in a suit of armor. She stood from the couch and took a step toward the vision. It flickered out of view, then reappeared, more substantial this time. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bethany let go of Anders's hands, and they both collapsed back into their seats; Hawke cried out and ran to them, but Elissa could not look away from the figure hanging before her.

"Justice?" she said, hesitantly. 

And then, the rushing cold, the shiver to the core of her bones, the blackness, and she fell, down, down, down...

-x-

 _Colors muted, sounds dull, and Elissa's thoughts are slow, as if dragged through mud: the Fade. Before her stands Justice, in a set of full plate much like the one he had worn on their first meeting in the Blackmarsh Undying, except that it has turned from brilliant white into a shade of black darker than a moonless night, light sliding off its surface like water poured onto a puddle of oil. She looks up into his visor and resists the urge to push it back, reveal the eyes she has never seen. "Justice?"_

_The spirit shakes his head, and when he speaks, his voice is hushed and solemn, more like the one she remembers. "I am worthy of that name no longer, Commander. Call me Vengeance, for that is what I have become."_

_"Vengeance," Elissa repeats with a sorrowful nod. "I wish it hadn't come to this."_

_"Do not burden yourself with regrets," Vengeance replies. "I certainly do not. You made the choice you believe will serve the greatest good, just as we did. We cleared the path for justice and freedom, and the mages after him will walk it with pride. I feel no remorse for the decision we made, although I do wish I could have done him less damage in the process."_

_"Is he-- free?" Elissa asks as Vengeance lowers his chin, lets his shoulders slump. "Will he recover?"_

_The response is slow in coming. "Anders is strong," the spirit finally says, "but our years together changed him, much as they changed me. He will never again be the same man you or Marian knew."_

_Elissa nods. "Will I see you again?"_

_"I expect not." Vengeance lifts his gaze up and away, to the horizon and the Black City beyond. "I must take some time away from the mortal realm, to see if I can rediscover my purpose, or if this change, this thirst for revenge, is a permanent one. That can only be accomplished with distance. It is harder than I expected to part from him. Both of them. His love for Marian..." He pauses, words trailing off into the dull silence of the Fade, and when he continues, Elissa can almost imagine a catch in his voice. "Even after almost four years, it is not a feeling I have the proper words to describe. I am richer for having experienced it, and yet leaving it behind is the most difficult thing I have ever done. Is that strange?"_

_"No." Elissa shakes her head, a lump rising in her throat. "That's exactly how love should be."_

_"Then I will take the sorrow with the joy and let them become one and the same. Please, give her a farewell from me."_

_"Of course." Rising up on tiptoe, Elissa leaves a light kiss on the visor of his helm, in the spot where his cheek would be. "Good luck Vengeance, Justice, whichever you may be. I won't forget you."_

_"Nor I you, Commander." He nods, then spreads his arms and fades into nothing, and she follows him, the entire world twisting into a vortex that leads to the Void..._

-x-

The first sensation Elissa registered was the hardness of the floor beneath her back, and as she opened her eyes and sat up, she winced at the throbbing in her head. Apparently she had not gone down easy, entering into the Fade. Rubbing at the small lump rising off the back of her head, she stood up, surveying the scene. 

It was a sorry sight: five mages, each collapsed in their own particular state of pain and exhaustion, and Hawke looking not much better, curled up next to Anders on the sofa, stroking his hair, which was lank with sweat and sticking to his brow. Elissa cleared her throat, and Hawke looked up. "Is he--"

"Still here." It was Anders who replied; his voice was cracked and weary, but it did not bear the flat affect of the Tranquil, and Elissa let out a breath of relief. "Cold," he whispered, wrapping his arms around himself. "So cold, so... empty."

Hawke laid her hands on his, then looked up at Elissa with some alarm. "He's shivering."

Elissa pulled a blanket off the back of one of the chairs and handed it to Hawke, who wrapped the colorful cloth around his shoulders. "Shock," Anders muttered, his eyes fluttering open, a hand clutching at the blanket. "The patient has experienced severe trauma, and his body is shutting down as a defense mechanism." He looked at Hawke with just the smallest gleam of humor. "Good thing the healer is here, wouldn't you say?"

"Hush." Hawke touched her lips to his forehead. "We'll take care of you." She lifted her eyes, turning her concern on Elissa. "Are you all right? What happened to you?"

"It was..." Elissa paused, then decided, "Justice. He asked me to bid you farewell." 

Hawke huffed. "Right. As though he cared about me."

"Oh, but he did," Anders said, softly, sadly. "How could he not, love? Being a part of me, for so long?" He closed his eyes again, weary with emotion. "In his own way, he cared for you very much. And now that's gone too." He shuddered hard, and Hawke gathered him into an embrace. 

A soft groan came from the chair, and Elissa turned to check on Bethany, who was stirring now, a hand to her forehead. 

Hawke's head whipped up and around at her sister. "Bethany--"

The younger woman looked her way, and Elissa noted that she, too was unchanged. "I'm all right. Just tired. Anders--"

"Is fine." Hawke's reply was flat, firm, brooked no argument. "He'll be fine." 

Bethany stood, swayed; Elissa caught her arm, and she steadied herself before sitting back down. "I would cast a healing spell, but I fear I'm drained dry for awhile. Elissa, do you have any lyrium left?"

"A couple of vials," Elissa replied. "For you, or Anders?"

"Give them to him." Bethany slumped back against the chair, raising a hand to her forehead. "Anders has depended on Justice for so long, he needs it more."

Elissa rummaged through her satchel and pulled out the two remaining bottles and contemplated them for a moment, watched the blue liquid swirl in their depths. Then her eye caught something else that rested on the couch -- a sleeping cat, curled up in a ball in the corner, oblivious to the fuss going on around him. She shifted both bottles into one hand and scooped up Pounce with the other. The cat muttered a sleepy protest, which turned into much louder mew when she deposited him on Anders's lap. "Here," she said, "a couple of restoratives for you."

Anders lifted his head enough to look at the cat, managing a weak smile. "Hello, kitty." Meanwhile, Elissa handed the potions to Hawke, who held one to Anders's lips, and he tipped back his head, closing his eyes and swallowing greedily. He glanced at Hawke with a quick nod. "Enough for now," he said. "Save the rest." He lifted one of his hands to the back of Pounce's head, stroking it, burying his fingers in the fur. "Healing won't help me, anyway; my body is fine. The rest, though..." He looked up at the ceiling and fell quiet. 

Elissa knelt on the floor, laying a hand on Anders's arm. "I'm surprised that Justice only gave me a message for Hawke, and not you. Wouldn't he want to say goodbye?"

"There was-- no need, I already-- know." Anders squeezed his eyes shut, tears leaking out from beneath his lashes, his voice breaking. "He's gone, he's gone forever, and I can't-- I don't know if I--"

Elissa tightened her fingers in the crook of his elbow, then pulled away as Hawke brought an arm around his shoulders, coming as close as she could without disturbing Pounce; Anders hugged his cat fiercely and wept, his hands in Pounce's fur and his face in Hawke's shoulder as she stroked his cheek and kissed his temple. It was heartbreaking, and Elissa felt a stab of guilt as she turned away, unable to watch any longer -- it was she who had caused this outpouring of grief, who had demanded that Anders suffer it. And also Justice-- Vengeance?-- no, _Justice_ , Elissa decided, then and there; her friend was good enough and strong enough to rediscover his purpose. She had every confidence in him. And maybe it was better that he was free to do so; tied to Anders, no retribution would have ever been enough to satisfy their anger.

No, this was probably better for both of them, in the long run, despite her nagging doubts. 

Meanwhile, there was nothing left to do but make herself useful, and so she went to check on the three mages piled up in a corner of the room. They were all awake now, leaning on each other, talking softly. At her approach, Ella looked up, concern in her eyes. "Did it work?" she asked.

"The spirit went on his way, and Anders lives." Elissa held out a hand to Ella, who stood up. "As for the rest, only time will tell."

Ella helped up her companions, and then lowered her eyes. "I believe our agreement with you is completed, Warden. Probably best for everyone concerned if we are not aware of what happens next."

"I couldn't agree more," Elissa replied. She handed over a sack of sovereigns -- more than the agreed-upon payment, by a goodly sum -- and Ella took it with a bow. "Thank you for your service."

"If you need our aid in the future, you know where to find us." All three mages turned as one and slipped out the door, not looking at Anders or Hawke, not another word spoken. Once they were safely gone, Elissa turned back to the couch. Bethany's color was better already; she sat straight up in her chair, the strength returning to the set of her shoulders. In contrast, Anders still leaned back into the couch cushions, his breathing shallow and rapid, feverish drops of sweat across his brow. And Hawke still looked worried. 

"You won't be ready to travel tonight," Elissa said, a flat statement. Hawke met her eyes, shook her head, but Elissa held up a finger for silence. "Just don't. Give Anders and Bethany a night to recover their strength. I'll get us a ship to Tevinter tomorrow." Was it even vaguely possible that Isabela had come back? If not, Elissa had other, even less savory connections she could work. The Wardens used every tool at their disposal, including the lowest of the smuggling rings.

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "We?"

Elissa shrugged. "Whatever promises he makes, I don't know that the Wardens will just let Anders waltz back into their ranks. I'll probably need to speak for him. And I don't trust a letter to do the job. Better to be there in person." 

Anders opened his eyes, sorrowful. "You'll be gone for months," he murmured. "Away from your home -- your king? You'd do that for me?"

"If this is to work, I don't think there's much choice," Elissa said. It was a realization she had slowly come to, while waiting on the couch, and though it hurt her heart to say it, to think of how long it would be until she saw Alistair again, this was the bargain she'd made by staying a Grey Warden. The Wardens came first, no matter how painful the choices might be. She came a little closer to them, nudged his leg with her toe. "You're my friend and my teammate, so protecting you is my duty; when will you get that through your thick skull?"

He leaned back again, closed his eyes with a sigh. "Perhaps this will do it."

Elissa smiled and smoothed the hair back from his brow. "Get some rest, and I'll see you tomorrow." And with that, she left, wondering how on earth she was going to tell Alistair.

-x-

The gate door to the stables closed behind the last of the knights, and Alistair finally allowed himself to relax, just avoiding a fall off his horse. His legs hit the ground and almost gave way beneath him from exhaustion -- it had been a long, hard ride to Kinloch Hold and back, and the frosty negotiations there had been nearly as tiring as the journey. But cooler heads had prevailed, for now, the mages of Ferelden's Circle agreeing not to break free for now. It helped that Petra had inherited Irving's Aequitarian leanings, and as such had no taste for instant revolution. With his help, she had convinced Greagoir not to clamp down on the mages, and so the uneasy truce prevailed. But for how long? Alistair would have to keep a close eye on the situation, along with about a thousand others.

He trudged out of the stable and into the palace, down the corridor that led to his rooms. Many affairs of state awaited him after so many weeks away, he was sure, but first he wanted his wife, and he wanted a bath, at the same time if at all possible. But before he could find either one, he was interrupted by a page who ran up to him, waving a note in his hand.

"Your majesty!" The boy knelt, bowing his head, and Alistair stopped in front of him. "The Queen bade me deliver this to you immediately upon your return."

"Thank you, lad." Alistair took the note with a frown. So, just the bath, then. "Did she say anything else to you?"

"No, your majesty."

"All right. Good work, then, you're dismissed." As soon as the page was gone, Alistair unfolded the sheet and read the words printed in Elissa's delicate hand:

_"Delivering a package to Tevinter via Weisshaupt. Do not follow."_

Brief as it was, the message told Alistair all he needed to know: Elissa was arranging shelter for Anders with the Wardens, and would come back when she could. He closed the note and tucked it behind his armor, close to his heart. "Maker preserve you both," he murmured, and wondered when he might see her again.


End file.
